


One of These Years

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Order of the Stick
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, neither of them thought it would take this long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of These Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistresscarlett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscarlett/gifts).



> Dear Mistress Scarlett, I hope that you enjoy this story about Kyrie and Suvie, and that the absence of pronouns doesn't make it too hard to follow; I didn't want to break canon about their respective genders, and fancied the challenge of writing with no pronouns instead of using gender-neutral or Spivak pronouns. Cheers, a mad Yuletider.

Kyrie doesn’t mind getting up before dawn almost every day, because although it means rolling out of bed without disturbing Suvie, and getting out of the house without waking the children, the moment when the first customer opens the bakery door and stops right there on the threshold, eyes closed, inhaling the yeast-dough-sugar-_sustenance_ smell with a smile on their face; that moment makes every early morning worth it.

To be honest, Kyrie doesn’t mind those mornings when getting out of the house unaccompanied is an impossibility. The head baker at Pendecardiel’s Provender, who just so happens to be Pende herself, is fond of the children and doesn’t mind when they come to ‘help’ – said helping usually consisting of shaping dough into balls for the soft, delicious bread rolls that, once baked, Kyrie splits open and butters before passing the trayload down the long counter to Erulissë, who generously piles on the fresh greens before finally handing off to Neurius, who adds cheese or chicken or ham – or nothing – and then deftly arranges them on trays for the customers.

To be _really_ honest, Kyrie actually really _likes_ those mornings; watching the children patiently forming the dough into balls and then after that rolling out biscuit dough, which they have to be dissuaded from eating raw, makes the workday more interesting, and besides, on those days Suvie usually comes in to join them towards the end of Kyrie’s shift, demanding a sugary treat and explaining that magic needs sugar to work properly. Suvie’s sweet tooth is a family secret.

Despite Kyrie’s workday starting so out of step with the rest of the family’s, they manage to spend a lot of time together.

 

* * *

 

The day before the day that Suvie leaves, Kyrie comes home from work to find Suvie sitting at the dining room table, parchment and pen spread out across more space than Kyrie really thinks is necessary, disrupting the order of the neatly laid out cutlery and crockery. A new spell, perhaps? But when Kyrie softly says Suvie’s name, Suvie jumps and turns around and tries to cover the page, and Kyrie knows that it’s not a new spell. Not with Kyrie’s own name at the top of the page.

Maybe they haven’t been spending enough time together after all.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I need to go somewhere.’ Suvie’s eyes don’t quite meet Kyrie’s. Suvie is _already_ ‘somewhere’, at least mentally. ‘To learn. There are things – I need to know more.’

Kyrie wishes for the big heavy marble rolling-pin, is only holding a harmless bran muffin, and throws that at Suvie’s head anyway. Suvie at least has the good grace not to duck, or to fireball it, but to let it rebound onto the table. ‘And you were going to leave me a _note_?’

‘I am sorry, Kyrie, truly.’

‘You’re only sorry because you were caught, not because you mean it.’ Kyrie sits down, absently retrieving the muffin and beginning to crumble it into little bits. ‘Where are the children?’

‘Playing.’

‘Were you going to tell _them_?’

Suvie winces. ‘Kyrie, please...’

‘Please what? Please let you run off on your own to do whatever it is you want without so much as a goodbye?’

‘That was not – I did not mean it that way.’ The tear trickling down Suvie’s cheek indicates the truth of the words. ‘Really. I just – I did not want you to worry about me.’

‘Didn’t want me to _worry_? When I would’ve come home to work to a letter on the table from the love of my life telling me “oh, I just have to go ‘somewhere’ to do ‘something’”?’ Kyrie debates throwing the muffin again, but it’s in too many pieces to do much other than make a mess. ‘Suvie, did you forget the part where we’re married and you’re not meant to wander off unannounced?’

‘I am so sorry.’ Suvie swallows hard and reaches for a serviette to blot the tears away, passing another serviette to Kyrie, whose cheeks are wet as well. ‘I truly did _not_ mean it like that.’

Kyrie looks down at the table and mutters, ‘I know you didn’t.’

‘You do not sound very happy about it.’

‘I’m _not_. I don’t like that you even thought it was remotely acceptable to do this. How long were you planning on being away for, anyway?’

‘Maybe a year.’

‘A year. You were going to go away for a year and all I was going to get was a letter on the table.’ Kyrie’s fist crushes the rest of the muffin into a formless brownish splatter.

‘Please... do not be angry.’

‘Don’t be angry! How can I not be angry?’ Kyrie’s voice softens. ‘But how can I be angry? I can’t let you leave while I’m angry. I can’t let you remember me that way. Not for a year’s worth of nights alone.’

Their eyes meet. Suvie says, tentatively, ‘It is all right if I go, then?’

Kyrie thinks about it, but not for long. A year would be an eternity to a human, but they are not human. But still... a year without Suvie’s comforting warmth in their bed, or demands for sugar biscuits, or the way their hands feel joined together, Suvie’s covered in ink and Kyrie’s covered in flour...

A year. Kyrie can manage for a year. The children are well-behaved. The bed will be lonely, the house a little emptier (but a little less scorched), but Kyrie can manage for a year. It will be like waiting for bread dough to prove; Kyrie has the patience for that, and this will just be on a grander scale. Kyrie will not sink under the loneliness.

A year. Kyrie too can do a lot in a year. Try new recipes. Time the seasons with the changing of the fruits and berries that go into the muffins. See if the happiness of baking stays when life at home has changed so radically.

‘Of course it’s all right. It’s for your magic – it’s for your _life’s work_.’

 

* * *

 

Suvie leaves the next morning, and Kyrie settles in to wait.


End file.
